We were engaged to be married May 21, 2011 in Knoxville, at Krutch Park. Reception would have followed at the Square Room. The bride would have worn Alfred Angelo. Tiffany blue, lavender, and sea foam green would have welcomed guests in happy bundles of rustic flowers, ribbon, and various other decor.

We would have been together for two and a half years on our wedding day, set a week after my graduation from the University of Tennessee.

Would have is becoming a reality to me as quickly as we sped through the stages in our relationship.

We started out fast to begin with… I was barely single for two days when he crashed into my life. Just like that, his mystery, his smell, his strength, his warmth, his sincerity, his touch swept me off my feet and away into his arms… his beautiful, strong arms.

There was not a flaw on that body. His eyes could make Chuck Norris’s heart melt. His hands could soothe and protect. He was Superman to me, and I was his Lois Lane. I thought we were perfect for each other.

Until one day I found out his dark secret, the skeleton in his closet that still liked to come out and play. I thought I could, you know, “fix” him. Make him stop. Make him believe he didn’t have to feed it. Change him.

You can’t change people. I thought you could, but you can’t. His mom was right about that; you can ignore it and be together, or you can fight it and lose. I believe that was the last thing she ever said to me.

Ok, so he had a dark secret. I didn’t want to dump him for it, so I sympathized. I tried to be understanding, caring, wanting to help… but then I realized that he wasn’t going to stop just because I asked him to. No, he was going to keep doing it because he didn’t care enough about me to fix it.

So I stopped playing good cop, and I let bad cop come out.

I got mad. I yelled. I cried. I pleaded. I begged him to stop this nonsense, because it was tearing me down with him. My self-esteem is (and currently still is) at an all-time low because of his addiction. I wasn’t enough to keep him from doing it. I wasn’t good enough for him.

Then the lies began. He lied to me for two weeks, I found out, but gave him another chance because I couldn’t imagine life without him.

Then he lied. Again. And I found indisputable proof on my bed.

Finally, he told the truth. But it was too late. I was already gone.

He sped into my life, with me in the passenger seat. We were speeding towards marriage, our future, what we thought we wanted, but we both knew it wasn’t right. Someone had to throw on the brakes, and when I did, we flew through the windshield and landed broken on the pavement.

All that’s left to do now is pick up the pieces and start over.

Hello, self, it’s been a while since it was just me and you. Let’s go find out who you are.